


My Truth

by Paula K (Homiless)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Dreams, Family, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-09
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homiless/pseuds/Paula%20K





	My Truth

I turn over again, my arm hitting the wall. Hard. Sleepily, I rub it a little before letting myself fall onto my back. It’s a habit of mine to look over at Sammy’s bed and check on him. The moonlight falls over his pale face and he looks 9 years old instead of 17. He’s as big as I am. Bigger when I admit it.

I’m nearly 21 and for his benefit, sometimes pretend to care that we still share the same room. It won’t be all that long before he’ll be gone and I pretend not to care about that. Only he and I know the truth. That he rarely sleeps in his own bed. Tonight’s rare.

I tried once or twice to tell Dad what hunting does to my brother – that it has and maybe always will scare him awake so bad that the only way he could fall back asleep is if he wedges himself between me and the wall next to my bed. Dad doesn’t listen too well. Maybe because I left where Sammy sleeps most nights out of the conversation.

He hasn’t come upstairs in a long time. Just hollers up when we need to haul ass, depending on my being so tuned in to the sound of his voice that I will get us both up and dressed quick enough for him.

Tonight, though, Sammy is asleep in the moonlight and I can imagine a life for us; letting it wrap me up in a dream as I slowly drift back into the black.

“Dean. Hey Dean,” Sammy calls from my doorway. I rouse slowly, not wanting to swim to the surface.

“Come on, Dean. You said you’d give me a ride to school and if you don’t get up now I’m gonna be late.”

I open one eye, seeing him step into the room, sitting on the edge of my bed. My bed back in Lawrence. I glance around and there’s only one bed in it. I know this can’t be right. I look at 17 year old Sammy in my dream and he looks like he’s been scrubbed clean of all his pain and the grime sadness leaves behind. He looks beautiful.

There’s a shelf over a desk with a laptop that must be mine – there’s a busty lady as my screensaver holding a Bud Light. Yep. Must be mine. On the shelf are the two model cars that we made when I was 12 and he was 8. They’re painted, though, and we never had time to do that that I recall. His is bright red and mine is electric green and black. Weird, I think, raising one arm in a long, lazy stretch. I let it come down over his arm, giving him a squeeze.

“School, huh?” I say, groggy with sleep.

He just rolls his eyes and pulls my hand from under his arm, tugging on my sheet and blankets.

“Up. Now. Please,” he adds. My brother’s always been the polite one.

“Sammy, why don’t you skip today? Stay home with me. We can hang out. Sleep in. I’ll make breakfast and we can go to the movies. Just…..”

“Dean, I can’t,” he cuts in. “My English paper’s due today and I…”

He slows down and I see him start to smile, giving into me like always.

“You sure we won’t get caught?”

“I’m sure, Sammy. Positive.”

“Bring me the phone, jerk,” I tease and he makes a face but hands me the cordless. I make the call, schmoozing with the lady at the office. By the end of the conversation, she’s wishing Sammy well and I’m grinning and hanging up.

I lay the phone down on the night stand and then lift up my covers.

“Come on. Lay down with your big brother for a minute,” I ask him.

He hesitates but toes off his shoes and crawls in with me, snuggling his 170lb frame against mine.

“You gotta lot of nerve growing up bigger than me, you know that?” I gripe playfully, kissing his head.

“Not my fault you’re so short,” he replies, his face burrowing into my neck.

“Love you, Sammy,” I whisper, suddenly so sad that it rocks me to my core.

“Love you, Dean. More than anyone.”

He falls asleep against me, breathing in and out. The weight of his body is so heavy it feels suffocating. I shift a little but he follows, pressing his belly against my side. I shift again, this time giving him a little shove just to get an inch. I hear a thump and wince, waking up with a start.

 

“Owww… what the hell, Dean?” I hear the real Sammy whine.

I glance around quickly and see Sammy’s bed across from mine. I see the faded, pock-marked paneling with the curse words carved away mysteriously by my Dad. He never addressed how they got there or which one of us did it. Just got rid of it in the only way he knew how.

And I see those models we made covered in dust sitting on a shelf along with some other things we’d gathered through childhood and managed to keep safe. They’re not red and green, though. Still the same dull grey they always were.

And then I turn and see Sammy.

“Shh….Sammy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I whisper, pulling him against me, stroking his baby-soft hair. “I’m sorry.”

He feels lighter now, and is still rubbing his elbow when he settles down against me.

“That hurt,” he says sleepily. He sounds so much like he did when he was small. I hug him tight and reach out with my free hand to rub his arm for him.

He’s asleep again in the bed we’ve slept in on and off since I can remember and that other life in my dream is over before it ever had a chance to begin.

In the dark, I feel his pulse beneath my finger and he’s alive and he’s mine for just a little while longer. The silence that fills up our house, for now, is still and safe. I close my eyes and feel the black pull me into its arms. No dreams this time, though. Just me. And Sam. And the truth. And it’s enough.


End file.
